Gravity
by inelegantprose
Summary: A few weeks after Endor, Princess Leia has a decision to make. A complicated choice in five parts. Post-ROTJ, AU for TFA.
1. 1

_NOTES:_ _This piece keeps in line with the Disney canon that Leia became pregnant immediately after ROTJ, but obviously diverges from there._

1

Something was wrong with the gravity stabilizer in the Falcon. She knew this because there was a certain corridor that made her feel light as air, and not as a metaphor but actually: the route from his cabin to the 'fresher at first more of a skip, then a leap, then something like an aerial glide. It was like this corridor knew itself: made itself dizzy, slow, romantic, the way the midway point between naked-in-the-shower and naked-in-the-bunk always was. But it also made it impossible to walk fast and Leia loved to walk fast and this was a problem.

 _"Han,"_ she said, her voice firm. "It is _impossible_ to leave your cabin."

"So don't leave the cabin," he offered with a cheeky grin, but he could only pull her back into bed so much. Today, for example, she'd managed to mostly shrug him off to storm to the 'fresher, only to find storming was very difficult when she was bouncing down the hall.

This was a problem: Leia with the stomach that had been bothering her for weeks now, and the desire to walk fast, and the fact that they spent most of their time on this ship now, jetting from one base to the next, ferrying illicit supplies (him) and meeting with rebel allies (her). In the handful of months since Endor they'd led lives that were thrilling and nonstop and not well-suited to a ship with disobedient gravity. As the New Republic (as it was now calling itself – Han took issue with _New_ , convinced it was same old, same old) attempted to fully consolidate power and drive out remaining Imperial forces, suddenly Leia found herself needed everywhere, giving advice and aid and inspiration to as many as three planets in a single standard week, the transit spent zipping through hyperspace and planning her next moves with Han.

 _With Han_ – how perfect it felt, she thought, to think of that way, to think of them as a team again, to have hours alone with nothing to fill the time but each other. All at once, she thought, between the sex and the work everything in life felt exhilarating and vital and _fast._ Every kiss was _urgent,_ there was only so much _time,_ every meeting was _important,_ her body felt _powerful_ and _confident_ , the muscles on her calves tight from taking quick, long strides across terrains of every sort, her core nice and _sore_. She hadn't felt so optimistic and driven and energized since – well, _ever._

And Han, she noted, seemed to feel similarly; for once he seemed focused and determined, excited even – if he was a bit warry of accompanying her into places where Imperials still lingered, the thrill of this new work overwhelmed out the fear. He _liked_ seeing her like this – driven and powerful but also hopeful, in the past General Leia had been grim, now she was grinning. _It's happening, Han,_ she murmured to him one night, her voice awed and exhausted, their slick limbs tangled together, another fact about General Leia was that she was also insatiable – _we're rebuilding the galaxy._

And rebuilding the galaxy meant everything had to work perfectly: Leia's three pairs of pants had to always be pressed, her hair had to always be swept up in the same elegant-yet-practical cross-hatching crown, and no dysfunctional gravity. Especially because she'd seemed off recently, slowing down and reticent – off her game. The gravity _had_ to be fixed.

She was resting her head on the seat of the sani when he called out to her: "Hey princess – gonna be going zero-g over there in a few, alright?"

 _Good,_ she thought, _he'll fix it, and maybe my stomach will stop feeling like it's been through the autovalet six times a day._ Leia tried to make her voice sound firm but light: "Alright!" she called back. But with her cheek pressed against the cold metal suddenly everything had fit into place, sudden clarity. The stomach, Endor, the tiredness, the insatiability. _Oh,_ she'd thought. _Oh –_ Oh _._ He didn't need to know, yet – "Alright."

She flushed then washed out her mouth, glancing at her reflection quickly to fix her hair, slipping each frayed edge back into place. _Han,_ she said to it, biting her lip. _Han…_ How many speeches had she practiced in here? Too many to count, looking at that ruddy, blurred version of herself in the glass – _Han, there's something I have to tell you…_

She'd stained her pants – the third pair, the taupe ones – while retching and slipped out of them. Her blouse, too, bright white, would need to be cleaned, yellow bile dribbled along the modest collar. Slipping them into the autovalet, she stepped wearing just her underthings out into the corridor. How many speeches…? _Han, something I have to_ —

"And – here we go."

And suddenly she felt herself lifting off the ground. The nausea threatened to re-emerge but she bit it back, watching as her feet left the floor. Leia grabbed ahold of some circuitry on the wall, paused, then did what she'd so often done as a very young child with her mother during long journeys: she pushed off the wall, hugged her knees, and slowly somersaulted in midair. She remembered how it used to feel, watching her mother revolve like a planet, suddenly seeming years younger, hair everywhere – _come here, my beloved, let go of the wall, come here with me._ Her mother clutching her close, how they'd turn flip after flip together like something celestial. _Be brave, Lei – that's it!_

Her hair unwound itself, swooping around her, and Leia rocked herself through another rotation – swirling, slipping, as though in water. Hands tight across her abdomen. (Her abdomen – she wasn't ready, would never be ready, to call it a _belly,_ gods…) _Han…_ Moved through another tight, fluid orbit: _there's something I have to tell you. Han. There's something. I've something._ She pressed her eyes shut. _Han, there's something, there's someone else here._

She felt totally out of control. She felt totally in control.

When he popped into the little hall to check on the mechanics, that's how he found her: knees close to her chest, spine curved, hair flying, nothing but ratty panties and an old greying standard-issue bra. "Han!" she said aloud, surprised to see him and still upside down, peering up from between her legs. _Be brave, Lei!_ She forced herself to touch the wall, find gravity. "I think we need to talk."

XX.

Now dressed in her second slacks, the black ones, and an old Rebel camisole, she sat across from him at the dejarik table with her hands folded, her hair in two long girlish braids down her back.

"There's no good way to say this," Leia tried to begin, fiddling with a loose string on the top. "Ah… there's just not a great way to…"

"Sweetheart, you're killing me here." He drummed his fingers impatiently, peering at her expression. Then his voice dropped an octave, to that low, intimate place it went when they talked about Alderaan or sex or what happened on the Death Star. "S'me. What's going on?"

For a while she avoided his eyes, long enough that when she suddenly looked up he was surprised by the intensity of her gaze. "I think I'm pregnant."

Was there an opposite to low-g? When gravity was hitting on you way harder than you knew? Surely this was it. "You…"

"Or, think is the wrong word." She was doing the opposite of fiddling now, instead she was sitting ramrod straight, shoulders back, like he was Mon Mothma and the Committee of Budgetary Dispersement and thus the only thing standing in the way of releasing further funds for the Alderaani diaspora. "I essentially know."

"You essentially know?" (He was having trouble saying anything she didn't say first.)

"My cycle's _very_ late." (Which was a little bit of a simplification – it had been an infrequent and erratic visitor since Bespin at least, something about stress and lost weight, but it'd turned up again just before Endor and surely should've been back around by now. Obviously, this would be lost on Han.)

He stared at her, blinking, uncomprehending: "Your – "

"Coupled with the sickness." Her elbows were on the table now, which she only did when she meant serious business because otherwise, as she'd told him many times, it was impolite and aggressive. "Well, it hasn't been confirmed by anyone but I think it's safe to assume."

"Safe to assume." Maybe heavy gravity was the wrong word, like the wrong way of thinking, sounded like being crushed, it wasn't like being crushed, more – everything falling into him severely. Which, to be fair, was about the same as being crushed, but—

"Han?" She looked at him in that _way_ , her eyes unreadable but serious.

"Princess," he nodded numbly.

And _now_ he could read her expression – something like _pissed_ : "Aren't you going to _say_ something?"

"I'm just – processin', is all."

"Okay." Now she drummed her fingers on the table for a long few moments.

"The processin' would be easier if I knew what _you_ were thinking."

"I don't _know_ what I'm thinking. I don't know—"

"I love you," he said seriously, gripping her hands – suddenly it felt extremely important that she know this, really know this. "I love you and – m'not going anywhere."

"I know," Leia said, a faint smile at the private joke. She let him hold her hands. "And I you." She tried to smile. "And I'm naturally not going anywhere either, especially if I get huge…"

The _if_ hung over the whole room, sly and heavy, like carrying a baby inside you or extra gravity. "I love you," he said again, too quickly. She repeated it back just as fast. "An' – I always wanna be with you," he added.

"I you," she agreed, watching him.

"So do you wanna – should we—?" Han made an ambiguous gesture that she somehow still understood as referring to marrying him.

Her question was totally serious and yet somehow totally hilarious, hilarious enough that he was laughing afterwards, a choking oh-Kriff-Leia-oh-hell laugh: "Blast, but the next few months are so busy – Han, do you think we'll have time?"

XX.

 _Do you think we'll have time?_

That night, they tried to sleep it off, which is to say, they made love all night in hopes that they'd sleep so deeply they wouldn't think about it, but Leia, at least, couldn't stop thinking about it. _Especially_ couldn't stop thinking about it during, her mouth in a firm little line towards the end – one of those Leia nights where she wanted sex and wanted him but didn't want to come and didn't want to be pushed to do so. Something he hated but didn't press, something about control. She always slept curled up on her side like a shell in the narrow bunk, and tonight when she awoke from her typical 0300 nightmare she laid there with her eyes wide open, felt colonized and confused. _He asks me – sort of asks me – to marry him and I think we're too busy. What does that mean? What kind of person am I?_

What does that mean? She'd spent so much time getting the nerve up to tell him that she never considered what she would actually _say_ – what _he_ would _say_ – which turned out to be not much – so they resolved to have it verified next chance they got, and then he started talking about _her choice_ , saying _I want whatever you want, sweetheart, I'll support whatever you choose_ which she supposed was supposed to make her feel better, and supported, but actually made her feel worse, because _it's your choice I'll stand by you_ was something you said to random girls you got in trouble, not your – whatever they were, lovers, partners, whatever – she'd never considered he _wouldn't_ stand by her, but she didn't just want his support, she wanted his _desire_ , his _agreement_ …

His agreement to…?

She didn't want to be the one to choose for both of them—

 _This is easy,_ she told herself, even giving a firm nod in the dark. _You love him. He loves you. You might even want this, with him. You've thought about this, with him._ Which was true – she'd always been the planning type and when it was clear they were in this for the long run she _had_ envisioned having children, maybe, with him, someday – but that was supposed to be _someday_. But was there ever a convenient time for this sort of thing? Surely there wasn't ever a convenient time for these things…

But there were times that were more convenient versus less… 

Unable to resist, Leia gingerly reached out to Han through the Force. She brushed up against his presence and found it wound tight, confused and anxious. And was he—?

"Han?" she whispered into the wall. "Are you awake?"

She felt him rustle beside her. Normally he slept curled up against her, but tonight he'd laid on his back. She hated that. "Yeah, sweetheart," he grunted. "I'm awake."

She wasn't sure what she wanted from him. Maybe him to say more. "Han?" she said again.

"Bad dream, princess?"

She sighed. "Something like that."

"C'mere." Ah, there it was – he started pulling her close, pressing her face tight against his chest. "Mm. Love you so much."

"You sound like you're apologizing for something," she said shrewdly.

"Not. Just. Just thinking."

She felt warm and safe, there, held tightly up against him. He placed one large hand, splayed broadly, across her stomach and stroked the soft skin there with his thumb. Took a deep shaky breath into her hair.

"Han?"

"Try an' sleep, sweetheart. Alright?" He pressed a sleepy kiss into her hair. Maybe he wasn't awake, then. But still he knew how to tend to her… "Love you. An' I'll love our kid if that's what you wanna do, alright? But – nothing's for sure yet, so let's just wait an' see, okay?"

She felt like she was going to melt or crack open, unzip to reveal another, more vulnerable Leia. Every time she thought she'd reached the bottom of herself, there was another girl below, like the nesting dolls her mother collected back at home. _Oh, Mama. I am afraid you'll be so disappointed in me._ She said, "Okay."

XX.

Leia looked down at the series of home tests laid out on the lid of the sani, each with an identical pink plus sign. _Pregnant._ Even she had to admit there was no possibility of misinterpretation – all five had the same result, and said result could only mean one thing. The instructions on the box repeated the meaning of the plus in twelve different languages, five of which Leia could understand, and for some reason she found this very unnerving – that beings across the galaxy also needed this object, were also chugging glass after glass of juice, were also squinting with mounting dread. _Or excitement,_ she reminded herself firmly. _Some beings really do try for this sort of thing…_

Outside the 'fresher door, Han, she knew, was pacing anxiously. He'd already knocked multiple times – she'd been in there for maybe a half hour – and demanded to be let in. She'd demurred. "Let me take another, just to be sure," she'd called back, trying to keep her voice neutral. "I don't want to give you any false information." Which was how she was here, her bladder aching with overuse, five stark wands in front of her, five sets of instructions crumpled and littering the floor. To her relief and chagrin, the tests been deep within the recesses of the 'fresher's cupboard, apparently leftovers from "long before you, sweetheart," which had made her wrinkle her nose in distaste – not at his prior lovers but at his apparent familiarity with this sort of scare. _Han,_ she wanted to say to the him of long-before-her, _you need to be careful!_ But, at least she had been spared waiting until they reached their destination, plus the embarrassment of bowing out from an important meeting to grab a _pregnancy test_ , of all things. As if she didn't have a hard enough time being taken seriously as a young woman. (At that, Leia remembered the mission during which she'd been mistaken as _the_ _peace offering_ rather than the diplomat offering peace. Awful.)

So her bladder hurt. And she was nauseous. And her breasts felt a bit tender, now that she was taking an assessment. Oh, and she had a hideous headache, but that was mostly from concentration – shielding from Luke wasn't normally a problem for her, but the intensity of these particular emotions (hormones? Awful, awful) made it a much greater challenge. He'd already comm'd once, sensing her distress. There was no way she was going to let him know about this.

It was time to open the door. No more hiding – that wasn't her way, anyway. She thought of her mother, of burying herself behind her mother's skirts when she was maybe five or six, of Breha's hands delicately prying Leia's fingers away: _You must never hide, Lei, we don't hide in this family._ She held onto that memory – in adolescence her and her mother had grown apart, her mother concerned about the safety of her political aspirations, but they'd been exceedingly close in her younger years, kept each other company while her father attended to practical state matters. In the memory, her mother's face began to morph, abruptly and hideously, into Padme Amidala's. This had been happening a lot, recently. Something about her memories of her mother fading, something about Luke's obsession with their parentage. Leia hated it.

 _Padme Amidala._ Luke had uncovered her name very recently. Leia had seen a few images of her. She looked young and naïve. Far too young to be the mother of twins, the _eager_ mother of twins, but Luke was certain they'd been wanted and Leia wryly figured that the mere fact of their birth probably indicated as much – but then again, she had been older than Leia was now, wasn't she? Older than twenty-three? Padme Amidala looked like the type of woman who spoke in an anxious, flighty soprano and spent a lot of time looking up through her thick eyelashes and often let wisps of hair fall adorably into her face. Exclaimed "oh!" and "gods!" quite a bit; was surprised by treachery. Leia had never been adorable.

The banging suddenly came into focus – Han apparently had been knocking for some time. "Your Worship, if you don't open the door right now I swear I'll have Chewie rip it right off—"

Leia abruptly opened the door, and Han almost tumbled in. "The results appear conclusive," she said neutrally, using her Senate voice and gesturing to the prim line of pink pluses.

Han looked at them, his mouth opening and closing again. He scrambled to grab one of the torn open boxes from the floor while Leia sat down crosslegged, the hair on her legs quivering at the touch of the cool metal, and watched him. He looked at the box, looked at the row again, the box, the row, at Leia, almost in slow motion.

"How—?"

"In retrospect, I think my implant expired sometime around Endor."

" _Endor._ Fuckin' hell." He rubbed his jaw. "Sweetheart…"

And then she was up off the floor and in his arms, not so much embracing as being held, his one arm tight around her waist, the other hand cradling the back of her head to his chest. _She was not going to cry._ She thought, Padme Amidala was probably ecstatic. _I love him, I love him…_ Padme Amidala was _stupid_ —

"Shh," he crooned in the low voice, the nightmare voice, the sex voice, they were all the same. She thought about the first time they made love, how he'd spoken to her the same way he spoke when she was afraid from night terrors, all _S'okay, I've got you,_ had she been afraid of sex? She had. _We don't hide in this family._ Whose family was she from? Han said, "We'll figure this out, princess, I promise." Gingerly, anxiously, he brushed the hand around her waist against her stomach. It felt wrong but right, the same way she'd felt trying on her mother's heels as a child, or when she'd begged for a brassiere at twelve only to discover she couldn't actually fill it: someday right, but not now right. A kind of temporary, optimistic wrong.

From the cockpit, Chewie roared, something about imminent landing, her Shyriiwook was still pretty mediocre. Han cursed under his breath, continued to hold her. His hand, splayed, stroking. Her stomach, a place whose nerve endings she never thought much of, that place he kissed on the way down between her legs but not much else to her, suddenly this site of intense intimacy. Leia steadied herself. "Han, we'll talk about this later, okay?" she managed, trying to keep her voice even.

He frowned at her, disagreement all over his face, but nodded. Apparently the _her choice_ policy extended to conversation too. All the better. "Sure, Princess. Whatever you want. Okay."

She looked up at him, tried to force a smile, to think about this tiny place in terms of all the times they'd made love in the shower instead of her newfound alter to vomiting that was currently surrounded by the detritus of _making sure._ This mission was going to be a goddamn success. She was not going to hide from the Alliance or her responsibilities. "Okay," she repeated, like sealing a deal. In her family, they didn't hide.

 _Please review!_


	2. 2

_I took some light timeline liberties here by shifting Poe Dameron's birth to after Endor as opposed to before. As a head's up, I upped the chapter count – I'm now anticipating at least five parts, not three._

2

The mission was a goddamn success. Leia Organa said it would be, and so it was. The overworked, cash-starved pro-Alliance cell on the largely rural planet seemed energized by her confident presence. She'd enjoyed the keen challenge of adapting their typical Reconstruction strategies to a planet whose residents lived in relative isolation on large farms, making local journalism nonexistent and rumor more pervasive than fact. The primary concern was not pro-Imperial militants but anti-Alliance misinformation, making the threat of violence relatively low and Leia's preference, staying in civilian homes, actually doable. Concrete plans were made to allocate Alliance funds towards state-sponsored holonet access; she helped hammer out a tentative schedule of town halls. There were no pro-slavery sentiments to combat; the leadership seemed to take seriously her gentle suggestions about increasing women's literacy; and if anyone had suspicions about the very nauseous princess, they didn't say a word. Most thrillingly, she'd spent time with other young people serious about governing, a major rarity these days. The party leadership was almost entirely under thirty, and while they were mostly men at least she also got to enjoy light chatter with the thirteen-year-old twin daughters of her host family while helping with the washing. The girls had a lot of questions about her hair. She was so happy to teach them, pleased at the idea of Alderaanian updos in even the most remote places.

(Though, in retrospect, there had been one moment that had made her frown. As she always did when she met very young girls, she'd asked the twins what they wanted to be when they'd grown up. Their answer had been in perfect concordance, while giggling: "Married!")

Han had been successful too – she was so proud of him. He'd both managed to negotiate access to the natural resources of the area and also connected local traders to the intergalactic medicinal marketplace, a much-needed pipeline that had been destroyed by Imperial trade restriction. And he'd also done some vital Intel work, which he relished in. Leia liked to imagine that little Han, sneaky and swift, had always wanted to be a spy.

What had not been a success was her and Han managing to Have That Talk. They didn't lodge together planetside, and mostly communicated via comm in the evenings. Her voice was overly gregarious when she spoke of her work, racing through endless details he couldn't possibly track in that Leia way of hers. When he asked how she was feeling, his voice dripping with implication, she'd pretended not to notice it and complained lightly of women's pants pockets not being deep enough for her toothbrush.

Otherwise, they only alluded to it one another time. "By the way," Han'd said carefully, "wanted you to know, that Chewie knows."

Leia, with the taste of vomit in her mouth and her fingers covered in cold cream, had kept her voice casual. "Mm, alright. How'd that happen?"

His voice was defensive: "Sense of smell."

But of course, Leia knew _sense of smell_ was slang for _I accidentally told him._ How did Chewie know Leia was on her cycle on the way to Ord Mantell? _Sense of smell._ How did he know they'd begun sleeping together en route to Bespin? _Sense of smell._ For awhile she'd been quite impressed if a bit perturbed until her Shyriwook improved enough for their friend to set her straight about Han's blabbing. She imagined Han with his hands in his hair, anxiously conferencing with his friend: _What the hell should I do, pal?_ She felt ravenously jealous; there was no one for _her_ to talk to.

Other than, of course, the person she really ought to talk to.

The first thing she did on the Falcon was, of course, vomit, practically bolting the moment they'd lifted off. As she emptied her stomach of the meal her host family had prepared, she could hear Chewie and Han arguing about something. _Men._ She pressed her face against the cool metal, trying to gauge if this spell was over. A few moments later, she was surprised to see the 'fresher door slide open to reveal Han holding a glass of water.

He looked just as uneasy as she was, but tried to half-smile. "Thought you might want this."

Leia nodded slowly, willing herself to sit up and praying her hair was vomit-free. "Thank you," she said, taking the cup.

"Drink slowly," he said automatically. He wouldn't stop watching her.

"Alright," she said. So she drank slowly, watched him watching her. It wasn't like him to hover; and anyway, during the past few weeks of her upset stomach, while he'd always checked on her afterwards he'd never rushed to her side. "Everything okay?" she said after a long silence.

He looked taken aback. "Yeah, I – yeah, I just. Wanted to see if you needed anything, if there was anything I could do."

"I don't think so," Leia said. So the rules of engagement had changed, then, now that it was identifiably pregnancy sickness. She knew it wasn't protectiveness so much as something approaching guilt, about teasing her for space-sickness ("ride too bumpy for ya? Kriff, if I didn't know better I'd say you were a _princess_ or somethin',") and his hand in her ailment. _Oh, Han._ "Thank you, though." She hated how formal she sounded, how it was like they didn't even know each other.

He nodded tightly, cleared his throat. "Yeah, 'course. Uh, the next jump isn't for a bit or so, so – lemme know if you want to talk. I'll be, you know." He jerked his thumb vaguely towards the lounge. "Over there." He paused. "I can take the cup."

Leia blinked, then offered it to him weakly. He took it. Her fingertips brushed his hand – it felt so, so warm.

"I've... got nausea tablets," he added gruffly. "If you want."

 _Yes, Han, I know this. I live on this ship with you, don't you remember?_ "Thank you," she said again. Like it was the only thing she could say.

Han nodded, and then she was alone again. _Except you,_ she thought uneasily in the general direction of her abdomen. _Here you are again._

XX.

When she found him in the lounge and he immediately sat up straight, she thought about the fact that this was how people who weren't Han always greeted her – with formality and rigidness – and felt very sad for a brief second. But the feeling slipped away – they were doing that often, these days. _Here you are again._

"Can we go somewhere else?" she asked. Suddenly the idea of conferencing over a table like this was another mission made her feel awful. Her voice had come out in a whisper, she hated it, why did it always do that at the least convenient times?

He blinked. "Alright. Where were you thinking?"

"One of the turrets, please."

She expected him to make a joke, ask if she'd made some enemies she had to take care of, but he didn't. Instead he frowned, looking concerned. "Alright. Sure." Leia moved to go, but he paused, rifling around the galley until he produced a basin. "In case," he said, indicating vaguely.

Leia rolled her eyes. "Your precious ship." Her feet carried her the way to the turret, legs doing work without her even realizing it, like someone else was maneuvering her limbs. It was a tight squeeze to both sit on the floor with Han's long legs, but she made herself small and so they managed.

Han was staring at her like he was trying to figure her out or waiting for her to say something. _You have me all figured out, though – you know everything about me._ "You wanna start?"

She gestured half-apologetically his way, like _No, no, go ahead, don't mind me._ She was looking anywhere but him – in fact, now she was looking decidedly out the windows, her eyes lost in the array of points of light, her lips pressed together tightly.

Han took a deep breath. If it was going to be this way, then so it was. "Alright, so. I've been thinking a lot and the way I see it is there are three…options." He paused to check her reaction.

Leia merely nodded numbly, still looking past him.

Seeing no other choice, he continued. "There's, I guess, have it and get married. Or have it and don't. Or… don't have it." He cringed inwardly – "have it" sounded way worse aloud than he'd accounted for. But he also didn't want to say "baby" on option one and get to three with that word between them.

Her gaze was very intent now, like she was fervently inspecting something in the system visible over his shoulder; he was half-tempted to turn around and look. She was picking at her nails a bit as well. Her voice was wound, tight, severe: "Is Option Two something you're very interested in pursuing, Captain?"

"Fuck, _no,_ no I just – I didn't want to pressure _you_ —"

She nodded curtly, cutting him off, and he wanted to shake her, say _Cut it out, sweetheart, just cut it out right now,_ but he stopped himself.

Stopped himself, and slowed himself. "Leia," he said, switching tactics. At the use of her name, her head jerked, eyes flashing towards his in surprise. He tried to force her to hold the eye contact. "You have to tell me where you're at."

"Where are _you_ at?" she said cryptically.

"Worried as hell about you – and don't you give me that look," he said, pointing a finger at her, "because it's not because I think you can't look after yourself, it's because you won't give me a _clue_ as to what you're thinking." She moved to bite her lip and stare out the glass again, and he frowned: "Stop that. Don't look there, look at me."

She squeezed her eyes shut. _Han, you're going to hate me._ "No," she said.

"No as in what? No you won't look at me?"

Her eyes were open again. Her voice fragile and upturned, like a question. "No as in I think I probably shouldn't have it. Probably?"

She flicked her gaze back to past his shoulder, very careful to not look at his face, her whole body taut.

For a long time there was no sound, and then just when it looked like Han would say something, she found herself speaking again before he could begin. "Han? I don't want to have it."

She looked at him then, trying to let her expression communicate everything she couldn't say: _I know I'm selfish, but I want more time. I want more time for everything I want to accomplish, for being Leia, for us. For getting to know you, and myself, and how we fit together. Please remember that I'm a decade younger than you, and please remember that I haven't gotten to do nearly as many things, and please remember not to hate me._

Han nodded, took another breath. "Alright, then. So, let's move forward."

"Let's."

XX.

"I don't really want to go off-world," Leia said, scrunching up her face. "It feels so – it feels like it's shameful. Like going to 'spend some time in the countryside' for nine months. A dirty secret…"

It was the last leg of their journey, just after a quick Intel contact at a midway point (during which she'd stayed on the Falcon and avoided Chewie and vomited), and they'd mostly been concerning themselves with logistics. Her feelings now clear, Leia was almost desperate to have the whole thing behind them as quickly as possible. She wanted to be cavalier, tough, no-biggie. She also very much wanted to drink – he'd frowned, gotten her a single ale, but had nothing himself. _She_ _also very much_ _wanted_ the kind of sex where she was bent over something and dominated and made to feel insignificant – he had been less than enthusiastic on that. Thought she was past that sort of thing. Well, she _had_ been…

Han tried to crack a grin. "What a euphemism. And here I was relying on 'knocked up.'"

She ignored him. "I just can't imagine – touching down somewhere pregnant and lifting off… not. Or…" She was choosing her words extremely carefully, " _recovering_ on the Falcon, or in a hotel room. A kind of filthy tourism."

He nodded, watching her intently, as she went on while looking anywhere but him and trying very hard to be casual.

"And I don't want to have to wear a _disguise_ or anything like that, that also feels. Perverse. And like it's shameful, a shameful secret."

"But you did say you wanted it to be private, didn't you, sweetheart?" he ventured.

Here she nodded vigorously. "I don't want anyone to know. I just also don't want anyone to know that fact."

He didn't understand, and said as much.

"I – it's like – ah." How was she struggling so much to explain? "I don't want anyone to know because it's personal. And it's private. But not because I'm ashamed of it – of…" _Of you. I don't want anyone to think I'm ashamed of you, Han. I don't want anyone to think I don't love you, think I don't consider you good enough, think I don't think you'd be a good father._ "I would hate for someone to catch me sneaking around like it's something awful that has to be done in the shadows."

"So you don't want anyone to know, but you don't want them to know that you don't want them to know?"

She couldn't help it: "I don't want anyone to think it's because of _us_. You. Us. I don't want – I don't want people to think. What people think, about us. That you're – that we're not… ah, serious about each other."

His jaw was tight, posture rigid. "You think folks would think I'm – what, forcing your hand? That I won't commit to you?"

Too quickly, she blurted: "I think people will think I'm ashamed of you. I think people will think I _should_ be ashamed of you. And if I'm sneaking around some distant place in dark glasses giving a fake name to do – to have – _your_ – doesn't that all but confirm - I just would hate for anyone to hurt you. ThinkI don't love you." She was anxious now, her fingers trembling. "I think people will think I don't love you enough to have your. Keep your." She struggled again. "Keep your… child," she decided upon, pronouncing the word delicately.

He was expressionless, gave a terse nod. "Makes sense, understood."

Leia felt her voice rising in pitch, growing a bit desperate, strained. "Because I _do_ love you, I'm _not_ ashamed, I would never—"

"You sure you don't want it to be private because you want it private, as opposed to wanting it private because you don't want anyone to think you want it private?"

"It's an abortion, Han!" She hated how her voice sounded – shrill and needy and scared. "I'm not going to shout it to the whole galaxy!"

He gave the nod again, but his jaw relaxed somewhat and he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb absentmindedly. "'Course not. I got it, princess. I get it. Don't worry about me though, okay? S'not about me. I understand."

 _Do you?_ she wanted to ask. She looked at his unreadable face. _What do you want me to do, Han? I'll do whatever you want me to do._

"So not off-world, then," he continued suddenly, as though the outburst had never happened, clasping one of her hands in two of his. "How about on the Alliance base? Though I dunno if the med center—"

"I don't think they've got the pills for a full-blown. Well. They have emergency contraception but I think that's all."

Here he cocked his head. "How d'you know that? Someone else in your life I should be worried about?"

"Yavin," she said lightly, looking anywhere elsewhere. "Death Star, et cetera." She made the Ts crystalline points, darts saying everything she disliked to.

"Right." He was always trying not to choke when it came to this subject. "Right, sorry, 'course."

"I wouldn't want it in the base's med center anyway – it'll go in my record then, won't it? All the way up to Command. Or if not formally then by gossip."

"And then you're back at square one. The whole private-not-private…whatever."

 _The word you're looking for is paradigm, but I suppose I'll settle for "whatever," flyboy._ Leia nodded. "So that's out."

"That's out," he echoed.

This, Leia was certain, was the most awful logistical conversation she'd ever had with him. It felt sort of like planning her own funeral, or a prenuptial agreement, or drafting a will. Leia sighed. "What if we just went to a local W.I.?" she proposed, referencing the near-ubiquitous health clinics for human females across the galaxy. "No one from the base would ever be there, and it's convenient. Affordable."

Han grimaced with distaste. "You're not going _there_."

Leia tried to ignore the subtle pronoun difference – _we_ into _you_. "Han, Women's Intergalactic provides really vital medical services, especially for low-income females," she said, frowning deeply. "Don't tell me you have some kind of political—"

Han practically snorted. "'Vital medical' – yeah okay, maybe they do on Coruscant, but—"

"I can't imagine it's that different anywhere else."

Here he _really_ snorted. "Least on Corellia, s'about one step up from a scrape by your aunt on her kitchen table."

Leia's expression darkened considerably. "I am not looking for a _scrape_ ," she said tightly, articulating every syllable with perfect precision. " _I_ am in the _market_ for an _abortion_. Which is a _medical procedure._ " _Our procedure. Your abortion. We're having an abortion. I'm having your abortion. I'm shopping around for your abortion – which one do you like best?_

"You're still not going to a kriffin' W.I.," he say gruffly, clasping his hands together. "That's just – not on the table."

Her voice was icy and mean. "Well, speaking of tables – tragically my aunt's is floating in particle dust at the moment. Somewhere with the remains of her corpse – so that's out of the question as well."

"Leia, just—" He was grimacing again. "Look, we're not going somewhere sketchy or somewhere fucking—" he could barely get the word out, "— _cheap_ , hell– I've done enough – damage. I don't want to fuck this up, alright? We're not taking shortcuts, I'm not – fuck, if you – if something got – if something went wrong…"

Leia was ready to trot out her statistics – _1 in 4 females, safer than flying –_ but paused at the genuine emotion on his face. Tried to relax her shoulders a bit, touch his hand. Be sensitive. "Thank you," she said slowly. "For. Caring." She tried to let those words say everything she was thinking but wouldn't repeat aloud: _I'm sorry I love you I'm sorry._

Han gave her a strange look. "'Course I care. Kriff. You're everything." Then looked away, suddenly a bit distant. "Plus you'll want everything in, y'know – working order if. You ever, uh. Want something like this, later."

She tried to catch his eye. "I think I do," she said with as much seriousness and warmth and kindness as she could muster. _Like a mother?_ she wondered. The less generous voice in her head sniffed, unimpressed. _Like Padme Amidala._ "With you, I do."

He nearly reddened, then adopted a cheeky imitation of her voice, grasping for her usual prim reply to such declarations and suddenly awkward in the emotional intensity of the moment: " _I you_."

Leia chuckled awkwardly, and they sat in silence for a moment. Her stomach did a few nauseous flips, and she gripped the table as though it would keep her from floating away, but the discomfort settled.

"What about, you know, asking Dameron and Shara if they know anywhere?" Han said carefully.

Now it was Leia's turn to snort: "You must be joking."

"'Least we know they know about accidentally – yeah. Er, they probably at least considered—"

"And we'd say _what_? Congratulations, you two must be so excited, but by any chance was there a moment when you weren't excited, and if so, was there a place or doctor you had in mind?"

"Fuck it, forget I said it."

They sat for another long pause. _What did Shara have inside her that I don't?_ Leia wondered. _Does she love better, deeper than I do? With more good?_

"Alright, so I think," he said slowly, watching her like she was a skittish creature or a debtor about to bolt, "that the best course of action would be me going off-world to get the – medicine. And bringing it back here, for you to take in your – our unit on the base."

Leia said nothing, just looked at him, so he went on, trying to sound confident and reassuring. _Don't fuck this up, Solo,_ he thought to himself. _If you fuck this up you're done for._

Han continued. "I'll forge a phony prescription or whatever, get it filled elsewhere, so it'll stay private but it'll be, you know, safe. From a _doctor_ ," here he almost pointed his finger at her, but he restrained himself. "But I'll use fake names, to protect you know your privacy, and I'll go without you because m'not particularly recognizable… not like you." He gave her a tender smile and Leia thought her heart would break in half, her chest aching profoundly. Sensing her sadness but not getting the cause, he continued earnestly, the course of action coming together easily now: "And then we'll – call in sick and you can get to take it somewhere that's like – not a hotel, or some secret place, but also not someplace good you don't wanna taint with bad memories like the Falcon – someplace neutral, like our place at the base, okay? Since we're never there? With a bed, and a tub. And the med center in case – in case, and if it comes to that – we'll – say you had a miscarriage or something, I don't know, we'll figure something out." He rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand again, trying to sooth her, but the tightness in her chest only got worse. She loved him. She hated herself. She was awful and he was so good and she was so, so awful and why didn't she love him enough? How much more could a person possibly love another person? What was she doing wrong? He kept going: "And I'll – take care of everything, and you, okay? I'll take care of it all." He was actively trying to catch her gaze now, but she was determined to avoid it, ashamed. Did Padme Amidala really love _Vader_ more than she loved _Han_? He moved to tilt her chin, forcing her eyes to finally meet his. "Safe but private, alright? Like you said. You won't have to worry about a thing."

Leia glanced down, but he kept his hand on her face, watching her. They sat like that for a long, long time. When her voice came out, it was almost a whisper. _Baby_ , the voice in her head chided. _Womanly, weak._ " _You're too good to me_."

He watched her carefully for further distress but still shrugged, as though still trying to keep things light, no-big-deal, happens-all-the-time. "Hey, I'm the one that got you into this situation, sweetheart. Least I can do is get you out."

Leia looked at him and for a moment thought the bitter taste of bile in her mouth was the taste of those singular pronouns. _I. You. Han, there's something I have to tell you. Han, I'm going to have your abortion._ What did Shara know that she didn't? What did goddamn Padme Amidala know that she didn't? _Yes, Han, and I you._

 _Please review!_


	3. 3

_This chapter is a bit long, apologies if it overwhelms!_

3

The surprise appearance of her twin brother on the base was as awful as the surprise discovery of a twin brother was lovely. Which was to say, Leia Organa was not happy to see Luke Skywalker.

 _Not happy seems angry_. _Not "not happy" as in displeased. Just genuinely – not happy._

Yes, she hadn't seen him in person since the week after Endor when he'd traipsed off to chase after more Jedi lore; yes, she appreciated that his arrival simultaneous to hers deflected attention away from her and Han; yes, the hug she gave him in the hangar was sincere and warm. But when he looked at her immediately with inquiry, Leia felt instantly uneasy. Especially because the rationale for Luke's surprise appearance was that it "just felt right to come back for awhile."

But then again, Luke always spoke that way now. And they said _she_ sounded pretentious.

Now she was seated in mess, distractedly poking at her food. She was seated with the few members of Rogue Squadron who were on base as well along with some others, but without Han or Luke, it felt very silly, like lying. These were not her friends. They were censoring themselves around her, as well, looking at her curiously. She made small talk mostly with Kes about Shara and the baby – otherwise, she said nothing.

She _wished_ Han were here, but knew his absence was on her and her insistence on haste. _Selfish, selfish, weak weak weak._ Leia had felt distinctly like cargo when he'd touched down the Falcon, hugged her so tightly she thought she would burst, let her down on the ramp and sped back off to get the medicine they needed. She needed. His way of showing he took her anxiety seriously; he kept saying he hated the idea of leaving her alone though and she said it was fine. It had to be fine, it was no big deal, and it would only be two hours tops. But stepping into the hangar without him, holding only a case and blinded by the bright light of day had felt so impossibly lonely. So did her curt visit with Rieekan asking for an immediate leave, to which his reply was to ask where Captain Solo was.

But maybe he wasn't feeling so bad, wherever he was, procuring drugs to make all this go away as quickly as it had started? Maybe she was making a big deal out of nothing. Probably she was making a big deal out of nothing. She swirled her rice into her stew idly. _Sensitive, sensitive. What would your mother think?_

Wedge Antilles was trying to explain the merits of some disgusting-looking, nausea-inducing combination of the food items served when Luke appeared, striding up to his friends with a look of confident delight. She couldn't help but beam for a second; he was so little and young, but he looked so at ease with himself, so joyful. Then everyone stood except Leia, who'd seen him earlier and didn't think to get up; she felt every sense of out-of-placeness abruptly magnified to a degree so dramatic she wanted to cry. _Stupid, stupid! Hormones! Weak!_

Luke looked so well, Leia thought as he clasped himself to his friends in that exuberant half-hug, half-slap men seemed to favor. His sandy hair was shaggy but appealing, his coloring tanned a bit with sunshine, his eyes bright. He looked so happy, so at home. A space orphan like her, yet this was _her_ Rebellion and so why did she feel so uneasy?

"No greeting for your big sis, huh?" Wedge goaded. "Who's the cold one now?"

"We saw each other when I landed," Luke said lightly. "And anyway, I'm older."

Leia rolled her eyes, an action that thankfully made her feel like herself again. "You're older, I'm colder, how charming." She stood up and squeezed his hand, though, for good measure. "You look well."

"You too," Luke said kindly, even though she knew she looked like utter worthless garbage. Leia gave an ironic half-smile.

"Hell, Luke!" Wes interrupted. "No one's seen you in… how long?"

"Ten weeks," Leia said immediately.

" _Ten weeks._ And it's not exactly like you've kept in touch. Ten weeks – you must not even know about the incoming Baby Rogue!"

Without warning, Leia found herself in Luke's tight, ecstatic embrace, his Force presence all bright sunshine. "I knew it!" he beamed, squeezing her tighter. Leia felt her entire body go rigid as marble, her arms glued to her side, her expression stiff discomfort. "I knew it I knew it – where's Han? I've got to–"

 _Please, please,_ Leia thought, squeezing her eyes shut and willing the embrace and the misunderstanding to end. _Please…_

 _Blessedly_ , the surrounding men burst into good-natured laughter. "Might wanna get that Force-sense checked out, bantha-brain," Wes chuckled. "Think you're confusing the Princess with _Dameron._ "

And just as quickly as it happened, it was over; Luke gave a startled, surprised laugh and released her, then clapped Kes on the back and congratulated him enthusiastically. As Luke cheerfully peppered the father-to-be with questions about Shara, Leia took the moment to clear her tray. Feeling somehow disembodied, she looked across the crowded mess, her eyes scanning carefully. It wasn't until she found one that she realized what she'd been looking for: another woman. She looked about Leia's age, maybe a bit older, her hair back in a severe ponytail and a scowl on her face. The man beside her spoke animatedly, probably explaining something to her she already understood lightyears better than him, by the looks of it. Abruptly, her mind was brought back to the time she'd wanted to make accepting women into combat roles a contingent of other planets' ability to ally with the Alliance's military forces, how Mon had gently reminded her that the Alliance had only recently enacted such a policy itself. Leia did her best to concentrate, send warmth and confidence to the woman via the Force. _Just tell him off,_ she tried to whisper to her, focusing on the waves of energy and light that connected every lonely living thing. _And do check your implant._

XX.

"Leia!" Luke called out, jogging to catch up with her as she strode down the hall back to her place. How long until Han? "Hey, I'm really sorry about what happened in there, I feel like such a doofus–"

"Not a problem," she said kindly, not slowing down but not speeding up either.

"Hey, what's Han up to? You never said–"

"Oh, he's running an errand, he'll be back any minutes."

"Is everything okay?" Luke asked earnestly, finally caught up. "You seem tense."

"I _have_ been known to be tense." She felt her exterior harden and was thankful for it – felt like Leia again, tough and all-business, somewhere to be.

"I really missed you guys," Luke offered genuinely.

Leia kept her eyes fixed ahead, trying to focus on navigating the confusing corridors – how she longed for a place she knew how to get around, how frustrating it was to always be new and in need of assistance. "We missed you too. Did you find anything interesting on your trip?"

"Loads of stuff, I can't wait to tell you all about it – are you guys staying long? I'm so glad we're here at the same time––"

"Just a few days. Yourself?"

"Oh, I'm not sure… if you guys aren't sticking around, though…"

Leia tried to force a sympathetic smile. "You know I'm on such a tight schedule these days. It's exhausting."

"I bet."

"I'm really glad you're here too," she said genuinely. "You really do look so _well_ , Luke."

"Try not to sound so surprised!"

"Apologies, apologies. Do you know if it's a right here, or––"

"You're trying to get to where?" he asked. She told him. "Oh, straight still." Leia felt a prickle of envy – how did Luke learn his way around here before she did?

"Thanks."

"So, I was thinking – think Han would be up for dinner on the Falcon? You and me and him and Chewie – like old times? I miss that bucket of bolts."

Leia chewed on the inside of her lip. "Tonight's not a good time."

"No worries, tomorrow then?"

"Probably, that sounds lovely. Straight still?"

"Mmhmm, it's all spread out, lots of long walks." Without missing a beat, he continued, "So are you going to tell me what's wrong or do I have to ask?"

Leia frowned, stopped. "Nothing is wrong," she said seriously. "Why do you think something is wrong?"

Luke shrugged. "Just a feeling."

"A Force feeling?"

"No, a you're-not-talking-to-me-and-Han-is-missing feeling, actually. What happened? Did you guys have a fight?"

"No," she said tightly.

"You seem really – on edge."

"I'm not," she said through clenched teeth.

Luke almost laughed. "You _are_! How can you even pretend!"

"Could it be that I'm on edge because you keep pestering me?" she asked nastily, the stabbing pain of self-loathing returning immediately at his crumpled expression.

Luke raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry, I know you need your space. I'll see you around though?" he said, moving to go. The voice her head crowed, its suspicions confirmed: _You need your space because you're selfish, and you're going to not have a baby because you need space, selfish, weak, unlovable, slut—_

Leia suddenly felt herself tearing up, of all things – she quickly swiped at the tears. _Slut's new,_ she thought darkly. "Luke, wait—"

Of course, he waited. "Yeah?" he said, his voice sympathetic but guarded.

"I… can you… can you help me find the room, please?" she finished lamely, hating the sound of her voice. _Pathetic, helpless, liar._

"'Course," Luke said kindly, reaching for her arm to guide her – she was, she realized to her horror, trembling. "It's just a little further."

As they continued down the hall in silence, Leia found a question bubbling from her lips: "Luke? What you said – about feeling like you had to come back – and what you, ah, said in mess––" She gulped, didn't know how to say it: _do you feel it? Is it something there, in the Force? Am I flushing away something bright and real that called to you across systems to come protect it?_ She felt hideously ill at the idea.

"Mmhmm?" Luke asked lightly.

"Did you, uh… did you – mean anything by that?" she said, almost whispering by the question's end.

Luke frowned at her. "How do you mean?"

She shrugged weakly.

Luke laughed a little, friendly but amused. "Are you asking if the Jedi have some kind of intergalactic pregnancy test powers, sis?"

She found herself nodding helplessly.

Luke made a big show of concentrating, touching his temples and leaning forward with closed eyes. Then he opened them, chuckling a little. "As far as this Jedi master can tell, you are baby-free. Or alternately Jedi aren't well-trained in the art of midwifery…" He laughed again, but then frowned, looking genuinely concerned. "Lei? Did you and Han have a scare or something?"

Leia shook her head numbly. "No, just – curious, because of what you said."

"Your Force presence is as clever, sleep-deprived, and annoyed as always. Same old Leia," he said teasingly.

 _Same old Leia,_ she thought to herself, clinging desperately to those words. _Same old, same old._

"This should be you," Luke said as they reached her quarters.

"Thank you," she said, her voice genuine and full of emotion.

"Let me know about tomorrow night, alright? And tell your boyfriend I say hi," he added, winking.

"I will," she said seriously.

"And Lei? Don't be so hard on yourself, okay? You seem – well I dunno, it's just a feeling." He shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugged. "But you're amazing, and you know that, and Han tells you that all the time I'm sure, so whatever. But you know, I'm just another person telling you that, I guess? That you're amazing. You're amazing, sis."

"Mushy," she said, trying to hide the tightening in her throat.

"Yeah, but you all love it. I'll see you," he said, flashing her a small smile.

"See you," she agreed, and palmed herself inside.

XX.

Wringing out her soaking hair, Leia considered the neat grid of items on the bed of their assigned apartment. _Her_ apartment, technically. They spent very little time here, mostly as a place to touch down between trips, but she was grateful to be in a place that was still _hers._ And she relished in this ritual at the start every trip ever since she was young, though these days she packed considerably lighter: organizing all of the things she'd brought in a neat rectangle, an even finger-width of space between each object. A trim white dress, a case of pins, a comb, her three pairs of slacks (black, taupe, white), her four crisp blouses – everything had its place.

But those things, which normally were stowed in the compact charcoal case she'd bought just after they liberated Coruscant, had been left in a drawer in one of the ship's fickle dressers, stowed away for another time. No dependable nude flats, no neat cosmetics bag.

Leia grimaced. Her things always looked sparse laid out like this; now, they looked positively dismal.

A pair of his sweatpants, folded at sharp angles. A heating pad from the Falcon's med bay. A datapad with briefings she needed to catch up on. Her worst undergarments, the pair she wore only during her cycle. The ever-present comb and pins. A box of the sort of sanitary pads one wore overnight, the long kind that turned every walk into a waddle. A pair of his thick socks, a little holey. A standard-issue Rebel camisole.

Everything had fit, with room to spare. She'd laid her things out in just this way as she packed, too – the array here a perfect mirror. Leia loved packing. Her mother had taught her how to gracefully layer delicate jewelry and fragile talismans in between heavy gowns, how to ensure crepe slips wouldn't be crushed; like so many skills she spent childhood mastering, there was no use for this knowledge now. Abruptly, Leia remembered how she would fly through the palace after arranging her things in their grid on her spacious bed, calling out _Mama! Mama, I need you!_ – sliding down banisters, even at fifteen. _Mam, will you look it over? Tell me how to pack it all up, tell me what I've forgotten?_

 _Mmm, beloved, let me see… oh, Lei! Where are your stockings?_

 _Stockings, of course,_ she'd groaned. Held up a pair fished from her underwear drawer – runs all the way through them. _Oh, hell! Damn it all._

 _Such language over stockings,_ her mother had murmured, amused. _Let me see._ And she kneeled at Leia's trunk and sewed them up herself while Leia had asked her advice on how to fit each delicate item inside. _Make a layer of heavy, soft things on the bottom, Lei. That's it. How long will you be gone this time, darling?_

And Leia, annoyed by any semblance of hovering, had always lied: _Not long, Mam._

 _So many things for not long,_ she'd observed, but said nothing else. _Stockings are fixed, there you go. You have to remember to_ wear them _, Lei. You're always so forgetful. Or, I can never decide – willful, or forgetful._

When she had folded the few items into the case, she had put the sweatpants on the bottom – heavy, soft things. The sanitary pads, too, were heavy and soft. She had considered taking them from the box and layering them all over the case's base, but stopped just sort of doing so – everything she owned now was sturdy, dependable. She had no fragile things to protect.

Leia looked over at the case, then at the disappointing array on the bed. Abortion-in-a-box, she thought grimly – just add medic. She felt the nausea coming on again, squeezed her eyes shut. _Are you willful, Leia? Or are you forgetful?_ She suddenly wished she'd brought one sentimental thing with her. Did she miss something in the case? Had Han slipped something in slyly? She'd seen Rebels wearing meaningful objects on slender chains into battle, or tying engraved leather bands onto their wrists. Even Han had a collection of various belongings about which he was affectionate, that told stories: a bright purple shirt that inspired a chuckle of _That old thing? You'll never believe –_ a small pillow in the dresser drawer about which he was especially protective. Hell, the Falcon itself was a sort of security blanket. Suddenly, Leia found herself ripping the case back open – surely she'd brought something else – something that meant something – ratty underwear with period stains couldn't be the only worn thing with her in the sparse apartment, the only thing old enough to give her _comfort…_?

The palace had been filled with sentimental objects. Leia had both owned many and was destined to own many. Her bedroom was an affectionate altar to private memories: dried bouquets and worn stuffed animals, scraps of fabric from favorite too-small garments, pressed leaves snatched from the tops of trees she'd climbed despite her father's express prohibitions – she'd called them her medals. _General Queen Leilei, reporting for duty_ with leaves pinned to her chest, a military as fantastical and far-away as faeries or ghouls. But she also often found her mother quietly polishing old things she promised to Leia – things to which her only connection was the promise of future meaning. The elegant pearls from her mother's wedding, the white wicker bassinet she'd been cradled in like her mother before her.

 _Like your child will too, beloved._

A younger Leia had grimaced, responded hotly, _Well,_ that's _about a million years away._

But her mother had only grinned good-naturedly and kissed her forehead: _Well, in a million years you and your husband..._

(Here Leia had always groaned)

 _Or wife..._

(And here she'd groaned _louder_ – her mother had made far too much of the time she'd caught Leia kissing Benna Deceur...)

 _Will thank me. For keeping it in such good condition, for all this long, long time._

A long, long time indeed. But all of that hard work meant nothing now – the bassinet was hurdling through space as a fine white shrapnel, indistinguishable from the debris of a sewer system. Leia closed her eyes and tried to focus on her mother's face, but it was merely a blur, a beautiful golden pearl of jumbled, lovely features that looked nothing like Leia's own: amber and sunshine and earth and hardy and height, all royal. She waited for a moment longer. Sure enough, the mush of familiarity darkened, transformed into Padme Amidala's like they always did these past few weeks: the Leia-like dark features, the fragile porcelain skin, the sickening, obsequious smile, the eyes contorted into a vision of domestic submission that Leia herself would never, ever assume. _Want me,_ Padme's big brown eyes said, enormous and obvious in their need. _Need me, I need you, sweetheart. Sweetheart?_

"Sweetheart?"

Leia's eyes snapped open at the sound of Han's voice coming through the intercom. He was outside the door; she moved to it like a ghost and let him inside. This was her place, officially. _And I you._ _I'm having your abortion, Han._ So he still didn't have access.

She pressed a button to unlock the door. "I'm getting dressed!" she called, her voice sounding strange and strangled. She paused, then inhaled deeply. _About a million years away. Everything in working order. Be brave, Lei. Your husband. No, don't sweep them up – these are my medals, Mam! Do you remember our mother, Leia? I love you. And I you. I know, I know._ With confident hands, she slapped the long, puffy napkin onto the ratty panties, yanked them on with the sweats – how many times had she pulled on assigned outfits, dressed the way she'd been instructed, unflattering camouflage, armor? This was no different.

Again, Leia looked at the impoverished grid of items. Was there really nothing? Not one intimate object? Not even a scrap? She pictured one of her embroidered handkerchiefs from home floating through outer space. Learning to somersault in zero-g – hug your knees and push off the wall and trust your Mam and your center of gravity. Suddenly, she couldn't remember the color of the thread. _Are you forgetful, Leia? Or are you willful?_ She thought of the women who wrote to her office, their confidence in her, how had no idea how quickly she was forgetting. _Dear Princess, When I think of you I am able to find peace..._ Some kind of green? _Mam, when I think of you I am able to find something, but right now it isn't peace._

"Leia?" His voice was thick with worry.

"One second!"

Her gaze moved slowly: the socks, the datapad, the sanitary napkins, the heating pad, the comb and the pins. And then in a quick instant it occurred to her, and she began to vigorously comb her hair. How many times had Leia watched her mother twist and pull, the slim gold pins with pearl insets gleaming as they came together to form Breha's formal style of choice? Memorizing the quick flicks of Breha's wrist and the subtle succession of fingernail-sized elastics. _No fair, Mam, my hair's not long enough!_ Her braided buns were still wisps of babyhair then, always slipping out of any styling. Nothing like her mother's robust, textured curls. _When you're older and wiser, beloved, you'll be able to, I promise._ Now Leia repeated the movements with exacting precision, with care. Soon enough, her long tresses were yanked into a complex web of spiraled pin curls and teensy braids coalescing in a bun set back on her skull, the tilt designed to accommodate a crown. She patted her hair delicately. One small, intimate thing. _Mam, I'm so sorry that I'm not more sorry._ She thought of what Breha would be doing if she were here, right now. Probably smoothing down the flyaways? Smoothing them down, kissing her forehead. Saying with pleased surprise, _beloved! You didn't forget!_ Tucking a stray curl behind her ear. _Of course I didn't forget. Of course not. Oh Mam, I am beginning to think maybe you would understand._

Leia emerged from the bedroom looking like two different people: cozy and homey below her neck, regal and elaborate on top. Han was sitting at the table, but once again he stood up upon seeing her, this time rushing to pull her into his arms. She pressed her face to his chest, inhaling. "You look beautiful," he said seriously, his grip around her almost too tight.

Leia couldn't help but snort, but the tears welling up in her eyes _again_ left her covered in snot, which she swiped off onto her arm unceremoniously. "I look beautiful," she deadpanned, skeptical, still staying close.

"Absolutely gorgeous." His voice was low, heavy with emotion. He ran his fingers delicately over the braids. "Your mom teach you this?"

"Mmhmm," she murmured into his chest.

"I love it."

"How was your trip?" she said, muffled by his shirt.

"Quick, easy."

"Yeah? No Imps trying to steal abortifacients?"

"Not one," he said, kissing the top of her head. "But I missed you, so there's that."

"It was only a few hours…"

"I always miss you," he said seriously, voice low.

She tried to bury deeper into his shirt, said nothing, relished in the warmth of his arms around her. _Mam, there's something I have to tell you. Mam, my stockings, his abortion, your face…_ "Han?"

"Mm?"

She clenched her whole body, anxious. "I feel so bad," she whispered.

She felt him go a bit rigid, but he continued stroking her hair, holding her. "In what way?"

"I feel like I'm–" There was the voice again, ready to fill in the black: _pathetic, slut, selfish, weak._ "I feel like I'm not a very good person," she settled on, her voice catching in the confession. "I didn't even consider keeping it. I knew immediately… and I feel so bad… for being so casual, so selfish."

"You're not selfish," he said gruffly into her hair. "You're _not._ "

"And then I feel bad," she went on, her throat constricting further, "for feeling bad about not feeling bad, because if I'm so upset, doesn't that mean it's the wrong choice? If I feel like such worthless garbage for – isn't that a sign–?"

He pulled back from her, setting his hands on her shoulder and dropping to eye-level. " _Leia, you are not worthless garbage._ Don't you ever say that again, _ever._ "

She nodded with emotion, looking away.

"And as for – feeling like shit. I don't – this thing's hard for anyone. Okay? Nobody has an easy time with something like this. Or not most – I think it's gotta always be a little sad, right?"

Leia sniffled but smiled a little. "You speaking from experience, captain?"

"Just 'cause it's a road you didn't take, y'know? Doesn't mean that road was better, or that you can't take it again, right? But it's just you know. A little sad. Right?"

She looked up at him through her damp lashes. He was looking just past her, his expression serious, contemplative. Familiar. "You're actually quite brilliant, you know that, don't you?" _Home._

"I've been told." He kissed her forehead. "You still wanna go through with this, then?"

"I do."

"Alright." He led her over to the table, where a white folded bag was waiting with a cup of water, and sat down across from her, taking a small vial from the bag.

"This is it?" she asked, peering carefully. Something so small, so insignificant…?

"This is it. You take the pink one now, and the blue in an hour."

Leia snorted, turning the delicate tube over in her hands. "Pink and blue? Isn't that a little macabre?"

He shrugged as Leia clicked the two pills together idly.

Leia inspected the label. It bore a variation of the name she often used when undercover, which combined the given names of her two beloved older female cousins. What would they think of her? She put the vial down. "The names," she said.

"No need to reinvent the wheel."

Leia clicked the pills again, lost in her thoughts. "You know this sort of thing wasn't exactly sanctioned on where they were from."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "But Alderaan was never at war. And you aren't Alderaan. You're Leia. An' you're sanctioning it."

Leia clicked the pills. "Right, then," she said, nodding. "Right." _Be brave, Lei. This is stupid, this is easy._ _Oh, Mam._ "Do we have any – liquor, or anything?"

He gave her a Look.

"Sorry, sorry." She opened the vial, surprised at how simple it was to do. "Cheers," she said, and saluted him with her cup. She swallowed the pink pill easily and made a face.

"Bad?" he asked anxiously.

"Sort of metallic, ugh."

"Hour until blue, then."

Leia drummed her fingers against the table. "I still think that's pretty perverse."

"Send a note?"

"A very strongly worded one." She made another face. "Ugh."

"S'wrong?"

"Just feels weird. Not bad, just bizarre."

"S'a numbing agent . Might make you a little drowsy, I think. Shouldn't hurt yet though. Hurt?"

"Doesn't hurt."

"You feel tired?"

"Not any more than usual."

They sat quietly for a moment, the vial between them. _The only thing we've bought for this apartment,_ Leia observed, but not with judgement. She reached for the bag idly, pulled out the informative packet. "Apparently that one also detached it from my uterine lining," she noted neutrally.

"Gotcha," he said, nodding and looking a little out of his depth. He went and got himself a glass of water, his movements deliberate and careful. "So, did you catch the kid?"

Here, Leia broke into a small smile. "I did, actually. You'll never guess what happened in mess–"

"Want tea?" he interrupted.

"Yes thank you. So, Wes made a comment about Kes and Shara's baby…"

They passed the hour accordingly, Leia's thoughts tugging her away from their gentle conversation every so often. Breha continued to circle through her thoughts, leaving her insides swirling even as she talked lightly with Han about nothing of importance. _I think you would understand, Mam, right? You would want what's best for me. You would trust my decision, wouldn't you? Be proud of me for standing up for myself, for being brave?_

"Sweetheart?" Han said, pulling her from her thoughts. "S'time to take the other one. The pain's probably going to start soon after this, so just–"

Leia reached for the vial, opening it and staring at the pill as Han kept talking in the world outside of her. It was a cool, breezy blue, like her favorite play dress growing up, a shapeless smock from before she had a body that was able to disobey her intentions. _Take me back to her,_ she tried to say to the small capsule, but it had no Force presence. Nothing living, here. How many miscarriages had her mother had? They'd only broached the subject once or twice – like the wicker bassinet and the pearl necklace and the regal hairstyle, it lived in the promised land of _when you're older._ Was it more than two, more than three? _Dear Princess, when I think of the Disaster and of dear Queen Breha, I am overcome..._ Willful, fearful, selfish, brave. _But then I think of you, and all you've managed to accomplish despite your personal suffering.._. Had her mother also worn these awful sanitary napkins? Accept the way they immobilized her as righteous punishment? Why did the thought make her want to cry while also leaving her feeling closer and more connected to mother than she'd had since her death – a warm, glowing connection that made her feel confident, reassured?

For the first time, Leia tentatively reached out internally to brush against the intended area. Held her breath. But no – there was no real Force presence in her abdomen either, it was too early for that. Just as well. She forwent the water and swallowed the blue pill dry.

 _Two more parts after this one – your comments have meant so much to me, please keep them coming!_


	4. 4

_Thank you all so much for sticking with this story (and with Leia) – your responses have been so important to me. Please do know that her drug isn't a one-to-one with mifepristone and misoprostol, so there are a few liberties being taken in the piece._

 _As a head's up/TW, there is quite a bit of blood in this installment, for reasons you might expect. I've upped the rating to M accordingly._

4

She had heard that it was common for girls to think they were dying the first time they had their cycle – conceive of it as a wound opening up in that secret place between their thighs. These girls were not Leia Organa, who was angling hand mirrors between her legs since nine at _least_ , too curious to let any part of herself remain a secret. These girls also had never had Breha Organa for a mother, Breha who used none of the cutesy euphemisms her companions mamas' seemed so fond of – _the blossoming of a flower, the dawn of your womanhood._ Leia's mam was more direct: _it's the monthly shedding of your uterine lining, dear, because you're not pregnant._

Eleven, mouthy, and trying on adolescence for size, Leia had mumbled that it _seemed a bit odd to be punished for_ not _getting pregnant._

 _Punishment is quite the word. What about "change"?_

" _Change" is ear-piercing and training bras and antiperspirants,_ not _vaginal bleeding._ (Leia Organa also had not been taught any of the similarly euphemistic terms for the object of her hand mirror gaze – no "private place" or "swimsuit area" or "girl parts." It could be a bit shocking to talk to her, that skinny six-year-old saying that _no_ , the baby wasn't in Auntie's _tummy,_ it was in Auntie's _uterus._ ) The eleven-year-old princess had placed her small hands on her hips decisively, looking up at the Queen. _Mother, this is unacceptable._

 _Mother,_ thought a dizzied Leia Organa as she shifted the angle of the wholly inadequate heating pad stretched across her abdomen, _this is unacceptable._

It had been a half hour since the blue pill, and Leia was unceremoniously splayed out on the stiff couch, wrapped tightly in the bed's grey comforter and trying to assuage some of the pain in her stomach. _Not your stomach, Leia, this isn't the stomach flu_ – uterus, then. Like the worst cycle of her life, and then some. _Unacceptable._ How had her mother endured so many times? Another spasm of pain, like she was being wrung out – Leia gritted her teeth and jerked up her chin. Kept quiet. Etiquette, like finishing your dinner, remember someone's title, using the right fork...

Suddenly, cold fingers pushing her hair out of her face, tender – _Han_ , she realized, delighted with the cool relief. She opened her eyes to flash a pained smile at him sitting beside her, perched on the couch's arm, but his eyes were fixed straight ahead, jaw set. Instead, then, she tried to twist her face to catch his fingers against her lips, kiss them. "You're so–" she couldn't help but pause with another spasm, this time in her lower back, "quiet..."

Han grunted in response.

"Well, I don't mind quiet…" Then the back again – _shit._ She ground her teeth, dug her nails into the side of the couch just a little. She would have to change positions soon, to favor it. Had they ever slept together on this couch? She thought probably not – the one perk of the place was its real bed – but how could she not know? Memory slipping, spilling...

"Yeah, 'cause that means you get to be the only one talking," he quipped teasingly. "Need anything?"

Leia suddenly grabbed his large hand and plopped it back onto her face. "Need you to touch my face s'more, hotshot." She frowned. "Coldshot." Frowned again. "Anyway, you're nice and cool…"

He dutifully began to stroke little circles on her face, trying to remember that her slight fever was normal, expected. "You warm? Why don't you ditch the blanket."

Blanket. Blanket? _Blanket._ "Oh." She tried to swirl out of it, managed to tangle it around one ankle. "Blast…"

Han smirked, running his fingers pleasantly across her forehead. "You're loopy," he teased.

"Am _not_ , how _dare_ you, this is an outrage," Leia mumbled, mostly to herself, settling back down with her knees close to her chest. "I should have you written up for that in-suh-bord-uh- _mmmMMph._ " (And jerked slightly, a hideous grimace on her face.)

 _Daddy, did you tend to her?_ she thought lightly as Han immediately moved to kneel by her face, worry etched into his features. She and her father never talked much about such personal things… Leia distinctly remembered the first time she'd thrown menstrual pads into a trunk they were sharing for one of those diplomatic trips he was always taking her on – how he'd blushed. What he thought when her mother had hissed _Bail, she's too old to wear that now_ about the gorgeous red coat he'd brought her from Naboo – Leia Organa, suddenly pubescent in his absence and wearing white… that red coat… She always _did_ want that coat, longed for it thinking _stupid uterus, you couldn't wait long enough to let me me wear it_ once _? You couldn't have been patient?_

Another deep spasm, electrifying her enough to sit up and arch her back deep. _Ugh, moronic Leia, you couldn't wait long enough to get your implant renewed? Had to take advantage of those stupid treehouses – you couldn't have been patient?_

"Whoa!" Han said, reaching to touch her shoulder. "You alright?"

Leia, her eyes squeezed shut, still holding the deep arch, nodded. "Yes, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

She inhaled quickly, then dropped back so she was sitting up normally. "My back always hurts during my cycle."

"Yeah, I know."

Still wearing a pained half-grimace – now it was her belly again, very low, just below her bellybutton – she raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Trip to Bespin – you don't remember? Got real good at rubbing your back for a few days there."

Leia turned faintly pink at the memory. "Mmph – bet you thought you'd get lucky that night… so sorry to have disappointed with the cause..."

Suddenly his voice was low, his grin lazy and mischievous. "Oh, but you know I'll take you whenever-however, princess."

Leia turned pinker still, then almost laughed or cried. Did that really happen? Were they really flirting right now, while somewhere in the recesses of her stomach – _uterus, Leia, don't be a coward_ – something they accidentally made together was swirling away, bit by bit, into her ugliest pair of underwear? _Oh, Han…_ She loved him so.

As if reading her mind, he pressed a cool kiss to the spot on her just below her earlobe. "Lemme get you another painkiller," he murmured, his breath like the breeze back home…

"No, that's – that's fine, there's no need––"

"Then I'll rub your back," he said decisively, turning her gently and pressing his cool hands under her camisole, kneading her lower back with the heels of his palms. She arched her back again and sighed softy. "That feel good?"

"Mmm, mmhmm," she murmured, then grunted in pain, leaning back heavily against his hands. _In another universe,_ she thought neutrally as he rubbed harder, determined, _we are us, but I am in labor._ Another spasm hit, and without even thinking she moaned, "Dammit Solo, your child is not going down without a fight!"

She was cringing before she even finished speaking, waiting for his stormy Too Far Princess Too Far look to hit her, when suddenly – he started to laugh. More a surprised gasp at first, like shock, and then genuine silent guffawing against her, the vibrations sliding up and down her back. She could count on one hand the times she'd seen him laugh so hard – and yet he had laughed, deeply, warmly, a-little-shockedly, before looping his arms gently around her waist and resting his forehead against the small of her back.

" _Fuck_ , Organa, you're somethin' else." _Maybe not another universe,_ she corrected herself as he pressed his lips to her spine, shaking his head in amusement. _Maybe another six years…_ He kissed her again, then said, "Better eat something."

She rubbed her temples, trying to ward off the dizzy feeling. "I was just at lunch…"

"Yeah, I'd bet anything you didn't eat it. What d'you want?"

"No food in here." (They hadn't even stocked the fridge.)

"Yeah, I know, I-"

"You won't leave, right?" She hated how small and desperate her voice sounded.

He gave her a funny look. "M'not going _anywhere._ Was gonna comm Chewie or the kid or something, to get you whatever you want."

"Whatever I want…" She smiled a little in spite of herself. _Spoiled._

"Within reason, Your Highness. Your royal palette ain't always easy to please."

Leia closed her eyes, let herself drift back in time… reading late into the night (early morning really) in the royal library, her mother shuffling in in her dressing gown, hair all in disarray. _Just as I suspected,_ she'd said, frowning at her daughter. _You always keep me up._

 _I'm not making noise, Mam,_ Leia would protest. _I'm only reading._

 _Not noise, beloved. Just knowing you're up – wakes me up. Ever since you were a baby, you know – I'd always wake up right before you cried… And I thought you were probably hungry, working so long after dinner._ And because she had never learned to cook, her offering was always meager but delicious: a grilled cheese sandwich, cut into triangles. _Sleep soon, darling, promise me?_

(Later, when Leia would learn about the veracity of the Force, she would understand it in these terms, as her mother's ability to know her movements before she did…)

"I would love, more than anything," Leia found herself saying, her voice sad-happy, "a grilled cheese."

Han raised his eyebrows. "Alright, princess, one grilled cheese."

He kissed her forehead and stepped into the bedroom for a second, undoubtedly to not only request grilled cheese but also to update a worried Wookie. She felt a surge of affection for him. _Han, dear…_ _oh Mam, I do think you'd like him, he's the only other person who's worked hard at keeping me fed…_

Without his cool hands, she felt flushed, overheated, desperate to splash some water on her face – plus, the pain in her back had returned, giving her an intense desire to walk.

She was maybe halfway to the kitchen sink when he returned. At first he was mostly distracted, running through his conversation with Chewie again in his head – _yeah she's sad,_ he'd said edgily, _but that's normal, right? That's why she has me – help her feel better._ Chewie's cryptic, not requested observation of _I asked how_ you _were feeling, not the little princess_ ringing in his ears, causing him to set his jaw tight – how he was feeling was wanting to know if she was okay, that was all there was to it, he wasn't gonna make this about _him_.

Took about a second to notice she wasn't on the couch, another second to notice that the couch was stained, a dark blotches smeared across its center – took two more to see Leia, walking to the sink with deep stain blooming on the seat of the sweatpants, its hue almost seeming to get darker as he looked at it. Somewhere in there he got out, "Princess?" Strode over to her, trying to get closer, faster – "Hey Leia, you're––"

She looked at him, surprised to hear her name and confused at his urgency, then twisted to inspect the back of her pants. Her eyes widened with worry, and she looked up at him for a second before suddenly snapping over at the waist. "MmmPHHHhh!"A low, scared sound from deep within her. Fucking _guttural_ , Kriff. "H-han – ah!" He dropped to his knees again, trying to catch her face, but she kept jerking up her chin with almost violent intensity in an attempt to keep her expression under control. "Ah – _ah_..."

He felt like grabbing her face in his hands, but stopped himself. "Talk to me talk to me."

Her eyes squeezed shut as she clenched up her face further, but she nodded tightly. "Fine, I'm – _mmmph_ – fine."

"Let me get you another pain––"

"No! It'll make me nauseous I'm f-fi- _ah_ , stay here please – MMPH – stay–"

Then he did grab her, his hands tight on her upper arms, his face close to hers even though her features were still clenched tightly. "M'right here."

She gasped quietly as she opened her eyes, brushing pieces of her rapidly collapsing hair out of her face. "Not sure what happened, I don't… mmmph... think standing up, the – shift of gravity – blood flow, whatever – ah – _Han_!"

He tightened his grip on her arms. "I got you, I'm here." Han could count on one hand the times he had seen Leia Organa truly scared – not angry, not frustrated, not determined, but _frightened._ And this was one of them. "We're gonna get you back down, alright? Lie you back down." Wrapping his arms around her, he considered his options – the bed was further, the couch was damp, the table was closest but the least comfortable…

"I'm fine – I'm fine…" she mumbled, leaning against him heavily. "I want to – I'd like to clean up. _Ah_ – autovalet… the pants…"

"And then you're lying down and taking something else."

"Yes, alright…" Leia conceded with effort, struggling to stand fully upright. He watched as her face blanched. She then gagged with her mouth shut but swallowed, a tiny dribble of yellow bile leaking down her chin. _Shit, Princess._ "Will you – mm. Could you?"

He was on his feet immediately, his arm tight around her shoulders. They did a slow shuffle to the 'fresher, careful not to take steps too large, almost all of her weight against him. He used the quiet moment to take stock of her expression: not sad, just pained and most of all drained. Weary. Her hair ersatz, her tanktop stained slightly with sweat. The blots of blood on the seat of her pants. Looking humiliated and worn out and resigned. His heart ached for her.

When they reached the 'fresher, she put the hand he wasn't wrapped around on his other shoulder. "I'll just – mmph. I'll run my – the pants and the underthings through the autovalet…" She put a firm hand on her lower abdomen, just below her bellybutton, like she was giving it a warning. "Could you get me another sanitary napkin, please? They should be on the bed..."

"'Course. You want help – getting undressed and all?" His cringed slightly.

"I'll be alright." _Right, sweetheart, tough as ever._ She tilted her head up as though she wanted to kiss him, but when he leaned down close she instead nuzzled her soft cheek against his scruffy one. "I love you very much, Han," she said, her voice soft but confident. She rarely said it that way: usually murmured _love you_ or gave a ringing _I you_ in response to his own proclamation. And if she did, she rarely attached his name to the end of it. That is, she rarely articulated it with such confidence and conclusiveness.

He kissed her forehead. "See you in a sec."

As Leia slipped into the 'fresher, Han tried not to gag at the sight of the still-growing puddle on her backside. When he'd last checked it it was a brilliant red – now the hue had darkened to something deeper. _Heavier._ He ran a hand through his hair roughly. Kriff, hell, fuck – _Leia_.

As he moved quickly into the bedroom, eyes scanning and looking for the pads – his chest aching again at the meagerness of her possessions, laid out – Kriff, hell, fuck – he was thinking about her body. Not like sex. Thinking about how it always seemed invulnerable, wrapped up like some kind of expensive gift in sheets and sheets of white cotton – those damn dresses and slips and camisoles and brassieres – with her hair like some kind of store-bought honeyed cake, constructed, architectural. Inorganic.

Kriff, hell, fuck – _Leia._ Stomping around Hoth in boots that looked built into her legs, wearing labyrinth-like braids whose ending and beginning you couldn't figure out no matter how long you looked, composed and starkly pristine, snow-colored. Hiding the Empire's torture below her neckline and donning long sleeves in the Yavin heat so she'd appear perfect. Wearing goddamn _eyeliner and blush_ into battle, diligently swiping concealer over every scratch or scar or love bite with the same seriousness with which she strapped on her holster. Leia with a body like a goddess in every sense: mortals couldn't touch it, couldn't scuff it up, couldn't leave a mark if they tried. And he'd tried. Leia who'd tell you straight-faced she didn't need food or sleep – a self-sustaining organism, a perfect little ecosystem, a fucking machine.

Well, now he'd done it. _Kriff, hell, fuck. Fuck, damn – damn, Leia._

He reached for the napkin, turned it over in his hands. Thought of Leia cramping through strategy meetings but never giving a hint. Thought of Leia masturbating in her tiny quarters on Hoth, so silently and with a completely neutral expression, her movements precise and nimble, easily believable as asleep. Leia taking out stormtroopers on the Death Star with a determined, haughty superiority only to be rushed to medical when they landed – ribs, toxins, bruising, tears. Her blasted leg an inconvenience on Endor; her chafed, chained neck secondary to kicking Jabba's slimy ass. Trying desperately not to come their first time en route Bespin for reasons she couldn't articulate then; begging her, his voice low and rumbling, _let it go, Leia, just let it go._

Used to dream of seeing her vulnerable, getting past all that icy, sharp-edged glass. Well, here she was – bleeding in the 'fresher, in so much pain and clearly panicked and not bothering to appear in control, all his fucking fault. _Fuck! Damn!_

He grabbed the other pads and headed to the 'fresher, his mind racing with guilt and anxiety. "Princess?" The door wasn't locked, but he wouldn't go in without her go ahead, would spare her that sense of out-of-controlness he knew what she hated, so instead he gave it a few hard raps. "I got the – stuff. Y'okay in there?"

The two-second delay had him almost shaking, but there was her husky little voice, extremely strained but trying. "I'm fine, thank you," she called politely. He could hear the labor in it.

"I can come in, yeah?"

"Han, I don't think…" She sounded tired, fading. _Kriff, hell._ Yes, he would be coming in.

He pressed the side of his face up against the door, as though to get closer. "You sound – y'sound worse."

"How kind, be still my beating – _mmph…_ " She trailed off for a second, and he heard her hard breathing again.

"Leia I swear I'm either coming in or calling Medical–"

"I'm fine, I really–– _Han!_ "

He'd pulled the door open, and there she was, glaring at him with flashing, tired eyes. Vulnerable, vulnerable, collapsing in front of him – he'd never seen her look so fragile.

Naked from the waist down, Leia was huddled on the sani with her legs splayed in a wide straddle, elbows propped up on her knees, chin in her palms. Her hair had completed its collapse and hung around her in tangled clumps – he could see vomit clinging to the pieces closest to her mouth. Dried blood splattered on her inner thighs, dripping on the rim of the sani. Her head bent forward, her eyes looking up at him tiredly through her hair. The bloody sweatpants and underwear on the floor – she'd never gotten them into the autovalet – the drenched pad wrapped up in paper beside it, the splash of rust-red stains on the metal floor, the low falling sound coming from the sani's bowl. The look she was giving him, lonely and worn, before she clenched her waist and doubled over, groaning, "Ah...mmmMMMmph _\- ah_..." Not seeming to know what she was doing, that she was making sounds. His pulse slamming in his ears: _LEIA. LEIA. LEIA._

He kneeled in front of her and touched the sides of her thighs: "Hey now, I got you, I got you."

She snapped her legs together, cringing as she did so. "Han – _go_ …"

"Relax, sweetheart, nothing I haven't seen before."

She snorted. "Spend a lot of time with girls expelling clots of blood?" she asked, kneading her lower back.

"Listen, Your Worship. I've seen every inch of you, and I've seen you sick. S'no different."

"You – _mmph –_ you know that's not true…" She buckled over again. "Agh… I'm mortified..."

"Well, don't be."

"I think it's – I think it's too much to – I think it's coming too much to – I think I better just sit – sit here for the remainder, I think," she mumbled, her face pressed almost to her knees, "supposed to just be – I think – three or four hours? Already been some so… _ow._ " Lifted herself back up, spread her legs again, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Sounds right," he said, rubbing the side of her thighs again.

"I feel so awful… I feel like… I feel so… mmm––!" She blanched, her eyes going wide with fear before she vomited – instinctively, he cupped his hands underneath hers, catching the sick without hesitation.

"Oh _Gods,_ I'm so sorry…" she moaned as he nonchalantly cleaned her vomit from his hands in the sink, then wet a clump of tissue paper before returning to her.

"Quit it, it's nothing. You ain't seen a thing until you've cleaned Wookie puke, alright?" He stroked her knee with his thumb, trying to catch her eye. "M'gonna clean ya up now, okay?"

She looked away but nodded slowly.

First he wiped her chin and mouth, casually, like they did this all the time. She grunted and squeezed her eyes shut, the trickling sound still there, but didn't protest. He wet another clump of tissue paper, began to attempt to scrub the dried blood from her inner thighs. _Kriff, hell, fuck. Leia, Leia, Leia._ He started to scrub at her other thigh, trying to be nonchalant. She was humming quietly under her breath then, the pitch intensifying for a moment with each spasm, determined not to focus on his actions.

"Whatcha singing?" he asked casually in an attempt to distract her as he moved to soak another clump with which to clean the crusty bits of vomit from her hair. _Leia, Leia._ Passing gruesome clots in their 'fresher, hair sticky with sick, legs spread wide open and the dark curls between them glued together with blood, nothing private. Scaring him, depending on him.

"Song from my mam," she said, arching her back abruptly and squeezing her eyes closed, sharp breath hissing through her teeth. "Mmph – Mama used to sing when I was a baby, when I was sick..."

Han had never heard her call Breha any of that before – her mama, her mam. He kept wiping her hair.. "Yeah? She like to sing?"

Leia nodded a little, holding the position. "She had a beautiful voice… _mmph._ " She reached for his hand, gripped it tightly. He looked at her pink cuticles, her tiny slivers of fingernails, the raw half-moons they were leaving in his hands. Bitty, youthful, having seen so much. "Not quite becoming of a queen, so I was her audience… some children enjoy – _ah!_ – being sick? As it were? Not me, I hated missing out on anything… but I loved when she looked after me…"

"Didn't you have – what, nannies for that?"

"Mama liked to look after me herself… 'specially when I wasn't well… make me grilled cheeses, wipe my brow, sing to me..."

"Mm. That's nice," he mumbled, moving to place her things in the autovalet. He was surprised at how much he liked that – liked the idea of someone loving her, taking care, treating her well...

"She was kind," Leia breathed. When he looked over at her from this angle, he could see the sweat on her brow, its sickly sheen. "So sweet."

"Yeah? How she end up with you for a kid, then?"

Leia let out a soft, breathy laugh. "I take after daddy…" she murmured.

They were quiet for a long while, interrupted only by Leia's soft groans. Chewie, with bread and cheese and the discretion to not mention the gruesome couch just visible over Han's shoulder in the doorway as he took the things from his friend, came and went.

Han kept running a hand over the length of her hair lightly, couldn't stop touching her, couldn't stop trying to make it stop. _Leia. Leia. Leia._ His brave-as-shit girl… And then – her face a vision of relief after a particularly bad turn, her tired voice croaking: "Han? Han – I think it's past. It passed… I think – _mmph_. I think that was – that was – that was it…"

"Yeah?" He didn't want to know how she knew, trusted her. Brushed his fingers up against her slick forehead. "You feel okay?"

"I feel alright," she breathed. "Thank you."

She sat for a few more minutes, breathing heavily, then cringed only a little as flushed the sani. She limped into her now-clean clothes, a fresh napkin waiting inside the underwear. With his help, she stood to rinse her hands, her face. He stood behind her as she did so, and she leaned back to nuzzle her face against his neck. There it was again: "I love you so much." Her voice tired, scratchy, but genuine and true. _I love you so much._

She turned all the way around, then, pressing her face to his chest and wrapping her arms tight around his waist in a rare unambiguous display of total affection. _I love you so much._

Leia, vulnerable, powerful, strong, tender, making difficult choices for the both of them, unafraid of herself, firm in her convictions, enduring and still managing to be sweet and soft and perfect in his arms. To be loving, to be an anchor – keeping him planetside, keeping his feet on the ground. And him, doing the same for her, he liked to think. Looking after her and reassuring her and giving her confidence to keep going. Yeah, maybe he was doing the same for her.

"Han? Did you hear me?"

"Sorry – missed that, Princess," he admitted, rubbing her back, stroking her hair, this tiny powerhouse, delicate badass, vulnerable unbreakable woman who knew what it meant to endure. To keep her feet on the ground, to get back up.

"I said, I'd really like that grilled cheese now, hotshot," she mumbled into his chest.

"Right, Your Worship." _Love you so much. I know. Because I love you so much. And I, you._ "Coming right up."

 _After this, I'll be moving onto a longer, weekly-updating multi-chapter work about Han & Leia's first few years as young parents loosely within the TFA canon – be on the lookout after Gravity's final installment. And please do review – your comments always give me a lot to think about!_


	5. 5

Thank you so much to everyone for your heartfelt comments on the last chapter – I know it was quite brutal and I'm glad to have been able to share it with such a supportive community.

Simultaneous to this conclusion I've posted the prologue of my new piece Orbit, which as mentioned is kind of a mirror to this piece in that it follows Han and Leia's early years as new parents in a tumultuous galaxy. I'll be interested to hear your thoughts and hope you'll join me there!

As a head's up, there are some mild mentions of blood in this last installment, a small reference to sexual violence, and a light depiction of what happens in a gynecologist's office.

5

In the dream – and she knew it was a dream because she could still feel, even in sleep, the very slight itch of that too-long pad and the scratch of the towel underneath her, tethering her to the real world – she was wearing a grown-up version of her favorite blue play dress and her hair was completely down and she was jumping on her childhood bed with Han. Han was being insistent that he was jumping higher, stupid nerf, just because he was taller – and now he was trying to hug her.

"I am Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan," she was screeching, laughing as she tried to evade his embrace, "and this is my bed, in my room, and I am the best! Jumper! THERE! IS!"

"Alright, princess, you win," he growled, and she tumbled into his arms, laughing louder. And then they were kissing, and he was saying this was the softest bed he'd ever been in, saying he loved this place, her home, between kisses. And underneath the play dress she was wearing intricate royal blue lingerie, the kind she imagined princesses wore on their wedding nights, with a garter belt and stockings and so much ribbon.

"Han!" she was giggle-screeching as he kissed her neck and trailed his hands underneath her dress. "Han, on Alderaan I was a vir-gin…"

"Well," he was muttering, his husky voice low and loving, "we can fix that..."

And he still kept saying he loved this place, he loved her home, he loved the unique texture of her sheets, he loved the way she kept pressed leaves from when she was little. They were my medals, she whispered to him, and he loved that too.

"Leia! Darling!" Her mother's voice, then. And it was coming from the sunroom, where they usually had tea – even in winter, when the view outside was only crystalline ice and snow. "Leia beloved, weren't you going to join us?"

Dream-Leia pouted, whispered into his ear: "Ha-an… I don't want to join them…"

"Nah, sweetheart, ya gotta," he said, sitting her up and arranging her hair, making her look decent and not covered in kisses again. "We've got plenty of time for this later."

"Leia!"

"Oh!" Leia exclaimed, looking at the bed and seeing splotches of blood. She swiveled, got a glimpse of more of it, growing, on the seat of her dress. "Han, what––?"

Han frowned, looked up at her. "Think you maybe had an abortion or somethin'?"

"Leia!"

And then her mother was there, in the bedroom, wearing the heavy green dress she wore on the coldest days of the year, and for some reason her wedding pearls, the one's that would never be Leia's, and also a frown. "Leia, you're being very rude – oh, hello Han, dear, how are you?"

"M'good, thanks," he said casually, like he and her mother were old friends. He bounced on the bed a bit more before jerking his thumb in Leia's direction. "Leia's upset."

"Mama," Dream-Leia was snapping, and real Leia wanted to scream, don't snap at her, don't you ever snap at her again, don't you know what happens to her in the waking world? "I need to change – my dress is––"

"Oh, I'm sure it's fine. She won't even notice."

"It's not fine – it's ruined, Mama I ruinedit."

"Psh, this?" Her mother was contemplating the stain now, holding the fabric while Leia's whole face burned with embarrassment. "This'll come out in the wash, darling."

"It won't. It's blood, Mam."

"Well, it'll take a few washings, I suppose. You'll notice it at first, but it'll fade a bit each time, you know. And then little by little, you'll barely even remember it was there." She smiled. "It's a pretty dress, you know. You always looked lovely in––"

And then suddenly she was in the sunroom, and Padmé Amidala was finishing her mother's sentence: "Blue." And smiling warmly at her. "It flatters your complexion." (Padmé was wearing blue, too, a radiant sunny-sky-colored gown – their complexion was the same.)

Leia stared openly. "You're the guest."

"Your mother thought it might be nice for you and I to catch up. Tea? Cookie?"

"No," Leia said, sitting uncomfortably. "It'll – upset my stomach."

"Mm, you had an abortion?" Padmé asked sympathetically as she poured herself a cup.

"How did you–"

"I hope you're feeling a bit better now, though––"

"I suppose."

There was a long silence as Leia avoided the gaze of the woman across from her with a childish sort of defiance.

"You do look lovely," Padmé offered after a long time.

Leia crossed her arm. "I look hideous."

"I like what you normally do with your hair – all of those intricate stylings. Your mother taught you well," Padmé went on lightly. "I always thought Alderaanian fashion was just gorgeous. I loved styling my hair too, and I always wanted to have a daughter, so I could teach her."

"It's not for looks or trend," Leia said stiffly. "It's for modesty – it's a traditional representation of modesty."

"Well it's quite long now either way – it must be quite the task to wash it."

"Is this what you're here for? Is this what this dream is for? Because I get to be back here very rarely, actually, and if it's only for 'girl talk,' I hope you don't mind but I'd rather find my mother – my father––"

"I don't mean to distress you, so I'll do my best to be quick." She took a deep breath, then said warmly: "The answer to your question is me, not him."

Leia frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I wanted you for me, not him. Not as an expression, or an indication, of the depth of my love for him – although that was very real, and very deep. But it will be about you, what you want." Padmé reached out across the table, took her hand. Leia blanched, but let her. "When you're ready, you'll know."

"That's a bit vague… are you sure you aren't one of the Jedi as well?" Leia deadpanned.

To her surprise, her birth mother snorted. "If I were one of the Jedi, I'd be being infinitely more obtuse and tricky about this, and I don't mean to be. What I mean is, when you're ready to have children, you'll know."

"You're a bit late, you know," Leia said hotly. "I've already done it."

"It won't be about him, I mean," Padmé pressed on, "or how much you love him. It will be about you. And you will know, I promise." The way the older woman was looking at her – it was almost wistful. "You still have so much time. I envy that."

Leia felt the spark of a connection between them, bright and promising, and she tried to ignore it. "I'm doing my best," she said tightly. "Your husband's former compatriots aren't making it easy."

The look Padmé was giving her had turned sad, regretful, serious. "But you'll make it through, Leia dear," she said seriously, catching her eye. "You will. I know you."

Leia opened her mouth to ask a question – something like why? Something like how? – but all in an instant the vivid palace melted, and then she was awake, someone she loved sleeping, his breath heavy, close and warm beside her. Her thoughts felt watery and slow, the way they used to get at home when she'd return from a trip with her father and sleep for twelve hours straight. When she'd wake up in the nighttime with the world looking all blue, feeling like she was swimming in milk.

Like she often did when she was anxious or confused, Leia tried to think of her family: focused her mental energy on her father's face, then her mother's. Sweet, warm relief.

For once, as her birth mother's face inevitably appeared and overwhelmed the remembered faces, she regarded it neutrally instead of with frustration. Padmé. Yes, okay. You too, then. The image smiled softly and dissolved back into the faces of her parents, and she was able to sleep peacefully. And a part of her knew that in the morning she would wake up and she would be sore, and her heart would ache, but she would get up. And that next morning she would be sore, and her heart would ache, only less so, and she would get up. Rinse and comb that hair that took so long to grow and took so long to wash these days. Start again.

XX.

"And it lasts for up to four years now, this one."

"Four years? Damn – y'know, I do know this Princess who's kinda forgetful about these things… could probably benefit..."

"Well, I will have to make some kind of note to myself for four years in the future, but––"

"Put it in the royal planner! C'mon, I bet anything you're already scheduling stuff for four years out..."

"You're incorrigible," Leia said, but her smile wouldn't stay hidden. Han was performing his casualness a bit, she knew – she could tell by the way he kept his eyes on her shuffle and seemed to be tracking how often she had to change the pad, which was pretty mortifying but also somehow, strangely a kind of kindness she could never have imagined, certainly not from Han Solo…

Han said carefully, "And s'okay to do so soon after the – yeah?" (Ah yes, there it was.)

"I didn't ask specifically, but I don't see why it wouldn't be – I will ask though––"

"Just 'cause I know the sex thing is like, two weeks––"

"Well dear, this would be about this big, so…" She held two fingers maybe a standard inch apart and quirked an eyebrow. Then grinned a little at his expression, continuing: "It's actually quite a neat little device, shaped like a T––"

"But you'll ask?"

"Of course I'll ask. Otherwise, though? What do you think?"

Han looked up in surprise from his sandwich. Leia, who until recently had been collecting their things from across the unit – pins strewn everywhere, painkillers, socks – had paused in front of him expectantly. "Oh – yeah, sounds like you think it'd be a good fit, so if you want it you should do it."

"Right but what do you think?"

"Why's it matter what I think?" he hedged warily. "It's your–"

Leia frowned. "This is why it's hard – I know it's my body, I know it's my choice – and actually, Han, I do appreciate that you're acknowledging the power dynamic that's the undercurrent of a normative heterosexual relationship––"

"Ah, yep, ya caught me, that's exactly what I was trying to do," he muttered drily.

"No but – I just. Hmm. I don't know, is it presumptuous to think you have a stake in these things?"

"Keep talking."

"Like is it presumptuous to think you have a stake in whether or not I have children in the next four years. Because I don't know, it's also – I mean I would like to ask you to marry me––"

For a second, Han had some trouble breathing, laughed a laugh that sounded more like choking. "'Scuse me, princess?"

"Well I've been wanting to, this whole time since what happened, but I haven't because you know, I don't want it to be in the wake of – this. For it to feel because of this, I have a thousand other reasons to marry you that aren't because we had an abortion." We, we, we. Even in that awful sentence she loved how it made her feel less stressed in an instant, like knowing someone was watching your back on a patrol.

"Listen, sweetheart, if anyone's doing the asking––"

"It's going to be you, understood, and that's a very sweet reminder of oh-how-delicate your ego is – I'm only joking, and I like it, anyway, you know this. I don't know."

"Leia…"

"What I'm trying to say is none of these things feel like just my choice anymore because I really do want to spend the rest of my life with you. It's like how you never really told me – told me whether you wanted – to keep it, or not. Which I think I needed, then. But I feel like now I want to know if – need to know if. What you want, with me. What you want with me in four years… and my question is if that's presumptuous? If that's too much, too fast."

"It's not too much, too fast."

"Han?"

"Princess, I feel like if there was any other ground left for us to cover we sort of covered it the other day."

She gave a half-smile. "There's not much more intense than holding me while I bleed into the sani, is there?"

"S'not first date stuff."

"Or thirtieth," she quipped.

He was choosing his words with incredible precision again, she could tell – see the concentration and labor in his face. "Of course I wanna marry you, coulda told you this ages ago. Though you've gotta cut this crap about asking me, don't you dare try an' beat me on the proposal front, Organa, that ain't happenin', no way. But I plan to marry you – I just get the sense you want some time before you're anyone's wife, yeah?"  
"Yes," she said.

"And same as that – I never saw the points of kids before but I want 'em with you," he said seriously, pushing through the effort it took to get it out. " – But in the same way? I feel like you want some time before you're anyone's mom. Mam," he corrected, remembering how she referred to Breha.

"Yes," she breathed again. "Exactly."

"Not 'cause I think you wouldn't be good at it now or in six months or whatever. You'd be real good. But. I think you want more time than the next six months, and I do too. And listen, if that's gonna be four years or six years or however long, that sounds good to me."

"Good," she said in that same airy voice. "I love you."

"Love you too – but listen, sweetheart, if it's gonna be more than four, you've gotta remember to swap it on time! Because that was fucking…" He shook his head. "You're not going through that again."

"Well since you'll be with me, you can be the one to remind me, hotshot."

"I'll put it in my planner," he drawled.

Leia grinned again. "If that's what it takes."

"Glad to know you know we're a team," he said, his voice lower.

She flushed, just a bit. "Speaking of which. We need to start really coordinating our contacts if we're still planning on heading out tomorrow…"

"If you're up for it, I am. Lemme pull up what I've got––"

"Definitely up for it, definitely interested in what you have. This one's tricky––"

There it was, that lazy, crooked grin. "Good thing we're awfully fond of tricky."

XX.

When Leia arrived at the med center, the waiting area was blessedly empty. This wasn't by accident – she had deliberately chosen to attend right when dinner was starting in mess. Settling into a chair, she drummed her fingers on her knee – it wasn't that she felt embarrassed to be replacing the implant, but she would prefer not to discuss anything tangential to her sex life with any of her subordinates or, gods forbid, superiors.

"Your Highness?"

Leia stood immediately, striding over to the tall, grey-blonde woman who'd just emerged from behind a divider. "Dr. Luna, hello – we spoke via comm," she said in what she hoped was a mature, confident voice, sticking out her hand.

Dr. Luna, for whatever it was worth, seemed a bit amused at Leia's seriousness, but shook her hand firmly nonetheless. "Princess," she said, her voice calm as the still water in the lake behind the palace back home. "Why don't we head back?"

"You can call me Leia," Leia said hurriedly, then blushed at her hurriedness. "But, ah – yes, let's."

The doctor gave her a sort of small, knowing smile and walked with her back to a tinto curtained-off room. Leia perched on the edge of the reclining chair in its center, crossing her ankles and careful to sit up straight. Abruptly, it occurred to her that this woman was one of the few older adult women she'd spoken to in – could it really be years? Other than locals on her missions and Mon...

"So you're here for the new intra-uterine, correct?"

Leia had come prepared: "Yes, I think it'll be useful in order to manage my cycle, given the level of activity––"

The doctor, who heretofore had been busying herself with paperwork, looked up through her glasses. "There's no need to justify yourself," she said kindly, making careful eye contact.

Leia felt herself flushing again. "Of course not – I don't know what came over me..."

"You haven't actually been having issues with your cycle, then?"

"No…" Leia hedged. If you exclude the part where it disappeared for ten weeks.

"Good, glad to hear it. You can go ahead and put on the gown, and I'll be back when you're dressed."

Leia slipped into the gown. She felt skinny and cold, standing there – young, a little nervous, with bony arms and ankles, needing advice and grateful to have someone to rely on. When the doctor returned and implored her to sit, she flushed and stumbled through saying something about bleeding, about not wanting to soil the chair. Dr. Luna, snapping on gloves, merely said lightly, "That's why there's paper, dear, not a problem. Pop up here, feet in there."

Leia Organa, who'd taken it upon herself to learn everything about that troublesome, tricky part of herself in a hand mirror when she was nine, who'd showered in barracks with every sort of species, who'd let her lover wipe blood from between her legs, popped up here and put her feet in there. ("Scoot down just a bit, thank you.") Who strangled the last being to try to exploit her body, who facilitated her rapists' deep space explosion, scooted. And looked up at the white ceiling, and breathed.

"Princess, you're trembling a bit – are you anxious?" A kind voice from approximately the place between her legs.

"Mm?" Leia breathed, letting out a small laugh. "Maybe a little."

"It's quite quick, actually, and you should only have a bit of cramping afterwards."

She let out another breathy laugh, figuring she'd had enough cramping for half a lifetime in the past forty-eight hours. "Well, that's good to know."

"Most women I've spoken to really do appreciate it, they find it a lot less intrusive than the yearly. It's actually been quite popular since we got it on the base. Before I forget – can you give me the start date of your last menstrual cycle?"

"Oh," Leia said, propping herself up on her elbows abruptly. The scene looked almost comical, now that she thought about it: her pale skinny legs akimbo and capped with Han's socks, some woman her mother's age sort of casually wedged in between them. "Oh, I – well, I just had an abortion."

Dr. Luna didn't miss a beat: "And how long ago was that?"

"Well – it was yesterday?" She wasn't sure why it was a question, but she held her breath waiting for the answer.

"Alright, that's not a problem," the doctor replied casually, scooting a bit and clattering the tray. "The insertion can cause some spotting for a few months, but your cycle should start back up again in a month."

"Okay," Leia breathed. "Okay, good."

"Good. So, you're going to feel a bit of pressure…"

(But Leia was somewhere else by then, floating up into the ceiling and breathing and weightless and dreaming about everything she might do in the next four years, everything the galaxy might grow into. She would get serious about her relief work for the Alderaanian diaspora, about the memorial she was designing in her head, about organizing some kind of serious cultural preservation effort. She would run for office, again, maybe, it had been so long and she had no place to be princess of anymore, but she still had every good idea she'd had when she lived in a palace… She would marry Han, certainly, and also make use of his sharp mind and keen skill, teaming up with him to take out what remained of the forces that had tried to keep them apart. She would train properly with a blaster, finally, and maybe learn to fly…

And right after this, actually, she thought decisively, she would comm Luke, ask him if he'd found anything about their mother after all. She knew he had – that he'd been keeping it to himself, out of respect for her wishes, but she wasn't afraid of Padmé Amidala anymore. And Luke would say, his voice full of happy surprise, something like: You bet, Lei. There's really so much I've been waiting to share with you – you know, as family.)

"All done," the doctor said, scooting back and removing her gloves and smiling. "You're free to go."

Leia pulled herself back planetside and sat up, frowning. "That's it?"

"That's it. You can leave the gown on the bed, and there are more pads in the cupboard if you need them." The doctor smiled warmly at her again: "See you in four years," she joked lightly.

Four years. Something like a lifetime – exactly as long as she'd known Luke and Han, exactly as long as she'd grown into a different, stronger person. Four more years of knowing them, knowing her family. Something she still had, improbable as it seemed. Leia dressed and strode towards the hangar, where her lover was waiting to fly her up into the sky itself. Something she was always going to have.


End file.
